


To Trumpets Sound

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of battle Miles and Bass cling to each other, putting themselves back together as they come undone</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Trumpets Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dannation (persianfire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persianfire/gifts).



They were sticky with blood and high on death – the threat of theirs, the reality of other peoples. Miles dragged Bass down onto the heavy a kiss turning into a bite against the tanned line of his throat and hands yanking impatiently at their clothes. 

There was a wet, raw line on Bass' tanned shoulder where a sword got through his guard. Miles licked it, tongue exploring the curl of skin and rough crust of dried blood, and then bit down to make Bass jerk and swear on top of him. He sucked the fresh blood from his teeth and kissed Bass, tongues tangling around the taste of pennies and salt.

Bass tugged the belt free from Miles' trousers, catching the sword and propping it against the side of the desk. Then, with Miles trousers hanging loose around his hips and his dick hard enough to ache, he decided to gnaw kisses over Miles shoulder. He found the bruise a falling stone had left and deepened the purple stain of it with his teeth. 

Pleasure/pain washed through Miles like there was no fucking difference. Days like this, sick to his stomach and dizzy with adrenaline like it was a fairground ride, there wasn't. 

He twisted his fingers in Bass' short, sun-faded curls and pushed the other man down, wet-mouthed kisses on the hard slope of his ribs. Bass' breath was warm against the cold blood splotched his stomach, knotting in the thin trail of hair and clogging in his belly button. It wasn't his. Miles could remember the hot wash of blood on his skin – almost pleasant in the New Hampshire winter chill – but now who had shed it - the doe-eyed girl with the hatchet or the wild-eyed, bearded biker?

It didn't matter. Bass dropped to his knees on the looted rug, hands gripping Miles' hips, and ran his tongue along the underside of his dick. Slouched back on the desk, arm braced and trembling, Miles groaned impatiently as Bass teased with tongue and lips at his balls and aching shaft. 

Miles was almost ready to break and beg, but Bass' patience ran out first. He wrapped his lips around the head of Miles' dick, sucking and rolling his tongue round it like a sweet. The long muscles in Miles' thighs flexed and clenched as his balls pulled tight and aching with wanting. He slid his hand down to the nape of Bass' neck, nails scratching through the bristle of cropped hair, as the other man took in the length of him. 

A firm tongue pressed against the underside of Miles' dick, curling and flexing against his hardness, and there was a hint of teeth against tender skin. Just enough to keep Miles' nerves tight and shaky under his skin with the suggestion of pain. Want curdled under his skin, dragging like a weight. 

His hips jerked against Bass' grip as he came, leaving him limp and panting against the desk. Bass licked him clean, tongue swirling, and leant over to kiss Miles. His lips were rough, gilt stubble clinging to jaw, and his mouth tasted of Miles. It was probably weird that turned him on, but fuck it.

Bass smiled against his mouth, tongue licking the curve of his lips, and rolled him over onto his stomach. Paper crumpled under Miles elbows, sticking to the tacky blood, as Bass roughly worked his ass open with wet, slippery fingers. Two rough thrusts and he grabbed Miles' hips to hold him still.

Miles shifted, bracing his legs, and Bass shoved into him, cock stretching him painfully wide. His ass burned as Bass fucked him into the desk, sweat and come smearing over them, but a hot ache of pleasure clenched in the hard muscles of his thighs and stomach. Bass grunted with each thrust, fingers digging into Miles' skin to pull him back.  
One last thrust jarred Miles against the desk, the ink-well bouncing onto the floor in a Rorschach blot on the ground sheet, and Bass came inside him. He flopped down over Miles' back, his body sweaty and heavy, and pressed a lazy kiss between the arch of Miles shoulderblades.

It was ok – afterwards – to be kind. For a while.

Miles sprawled until he caught his breath and Bass' closeness started to itch at him like a hair-shirt. He shoved the other man off and sat up, grabbing a few used bits of paper to wipe himself off before fastening his trousers up again. It took longer for Bass to get tired of the afterglow. He sprawled over the desk, chest smeared with blood and come and dick limp, and stretched like a cat.

'Tomorrow we need to breach Desmond's defenses,' Miles stated, the general back in his voice. 'Once we're in, he doesn't have the men to hold the city.'


End file.
